


The One in the Hotel Room

by taetaetiger (sexyvanillatiger)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gift Fic, Hotel Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reunion Sex, Spooning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 11:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6656077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexyvanillatiger/pseuds/taetaetiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yifan comes to see Yixing late at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One in the Hotel Room

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday fic for the beautiful, wonderful [Maine](http://mainexing.tumblr.com/)! Originally posted on tumblr.

Yifan keeps his mask on and his hood up as he slips into the elevator. It’s late, so late that there shouldn’t be anybody around to see him, but that hasn’t stopped incriminating pictures from emerging before, so he keeps his head low and hunches his shoulders to hide his distinctive height. He has no reason to be in Yixing’s hotel, picking up a key at the front desk, riding up to the floor where Yixing is waiting for him.

No reason except for his heart thudding nervously in his chest, his stomach twisting with anticipating, his cock already hot and heavy in his shorts and his mouth watering when he thinks of what’s waiting for him. He doesn’t make eye contact with the cameras in the hall when he ambles in long strides down to Yixing’s room. He pulls out the keycard that Yixing left for him but listens before he unlocks. There is no sound on the other side. Yifan slides the key into the lock and opens the door as quietly as he can.

The fluorescent glare from the hallway spills into the dark room, a long stripe and its emanating glow lighting upon Yixing’s sprawled, sleeping form. Yifan slides through the small crack in the door quickly, closing it just as quietly so as not to disturb Yixing’s sleep. He sets the keycard on the entertainment center, his eyes adjusting as he undresses. The floating remnants of the hallway lights fade from his vision, but it’s so dark, even Yixing’s pale skin is hard to make out.

Yifan pulls off the mask and leaves it on the entertainment center beside the keycard. He unzips his hoodie, each click of the zipper catastrophically loud in the silent room. The noisy separation of each tooth is barely masked by the hum of the air conditioner; Yifan drops his hoodie onto the floor and feels the rush of it, cool against his skin. His hairs stand on end, and he isn’t sure if it’s from the cold air or from finally being able to discern Yixing’s long neck from the white sheets beneath him. Yifan swallows heavily and yanks his shirt over his head.

He digs into his pockets before unzipping his pants, pulling out a travel packet of lubricant and a condom. He sets them both beside his mask and his keycard before pushing his pants and socks and shoes away in one go. He’s getting impatient. His briefs come down last, tossed to the side carelessly as he swipes for his supplies and takes to the bed in a few broad steps. His vision has adjusted enough to avoid bumping into the mattress before he drops down onto it; Yixing doesn’t even wake then.

As Yifan slips beneath the covers and urges a sleeping Yixing onto his side, he considers that maybe it would be better if he didn’t wake Yixing up at all. Yixing has been worked so hard recently, Yifan has hardly been able to keep up with him. Surely Yixing would benefit more from the sleep. But Yifan has been so far away from Yixing for so long, so far from his home, and nothing—not even the sweet peace on Yixing’s sleeping face—can quell the hunger he feels in this moment. He placates himself, _surely_ Yixing feels the same way, and then he makes his move.

“Yixing,” Yifan murmurs, his lips pressing a small kiss behind Yixing’s ear. “Yixing, wake up.” Yixing mumbles something and shifts, first pulling away from Yifan, and then settling back into him. Yifan takes up a place behind Yixing, wrapping one arm possessively around his middle and sliding him closer. Yixing breathes deeply and turns his head, his sleepy eyes blinking owlishly in the dark. The darkness masks him, and Yifan hears his surprise better than he can see it.

“You’re here,” Yixing gasps, his voice a breathy whisper. He turns as though to embrace Yifan, but Yifan holds him still. He covers the distance it takes to kiss Yixing, grinding forward against his ass. His bare flesh pulls at the loose fabric of Yixing’s boxers, digging it into the crease of his buttocks. Yixing moans and reaches back to hold Yifan close by his neck, their lips catching passionately but briefly. When they part, Yifan noses at Yixing’s hairline, breathing him in and sighing in relief. It’s been so long.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Yifan whispers. “My flight got delayed. I wanted to call you, but it was already so late here—”

Yixing shushes him, curling his fingers against the stubble at the nape of Yifan’s neck. His open mouth moves along Yifan’s chin, the reach too far for him to take a kiss on his own. Yifan bends down to assist him, one thumb hooking into Yixing’s boxers while his other arm wraps around Yixing’s shoulders, rolling him closer. Yixing twists his hips until they get the boxers down enough for him to kick them away. Yifan groans loudly at the feeling of Yixing’s warm flesh; Yixing has always run a little bit hot. Yifan thumbs harshly at his hip, savoring the heat there.

“Yifan, please, I need,” Yixing whimpers without finishing his request. He doesn’t have to. Yifan knows what he needs. Even after all of this time, even after being so far away— _across the world_ from him, Yifan knows how to take care of Yixing. He always will. It’s like riding a bike; once he learned, he knew he would never forget. Maybe it’s the way Yixing feels so natural beneath his hands, like an instrument he learned to play in another lifetime. Maybe it’s the way he goes over it in his head, over and over again, even when they’re apart, the things Yixing likes best, the way Yifan can make him cry out.

Whatever it is, Yifan’s touch is practiced when he tangles his fingers in the hairs at the base of Yixing’s hardening cock. He pulls lightly, just enough to tease Yixing, kissing him hard when Yixing begins to moan too loud. He’s completely hard now, and Yixing is on his way there. Yifan trails his fingers up and down the insides of Yixing’s thighs before finally touching him, taking him in a strong grip and wringing a broken moan out of him. Yixing is vocal, but he’s not normally _this_ vocal. Yifan groans lowly at the thought that Yixing has been desperate for him.

Yifan strokes Yixing slowly, hand twisting in time to the thrust of his tongue in-between Yixing’s teeth. Yixing takes a strong hold of Yifan’s hip, grinding back against him and driving him crazy with a smooth, circular rhythm. Yifan retaliates by flicking the head of Yixing’s cock with his thumb; Yixing retaliates with a hard grind. They bite at each other’s lips, the cycle only broken when Yifan lets go of Yixing to reach back for his lubricant packet.

Yifan has to fumble for it blindly. He flings his arm out behind him, patting around until he meets the dresser that he set it on. He refuses to break his kiss, caging Yixing’s face close to him with his arm so that Yixing can’t pull away, either. Yifan huffs in victory when his fingers find the biting edge of the packaging, grabbing it and bringing it to his other hand as he releases Yixing’s jaw and finally breaks away from his lips. Yixing lets him, moving instead to mouth at the sharp line of Yifan’s jaw. Yifan’s fingers stumble over opening the lube, and he pinches Yixing’s hip as a punishment for it.

A little bit spills when Yifan finally tears open the packet, but he gets enough on his fingers to circle Yixing’s entrance, slipping in just barely at first. Yixing settles back down into the mattress, crooning softly as Yifan gets down to the knuckle with one finger. He takes it well, though he is more tense than he would be if Yifan had been around to take care of him more in the past few months. Yifan kisses gently at the back of Yixing’s neck, at the crown of his head, hoping to calm him before working the finger out and back in. Yixing gasps and tilts his hips to meet him. He reaches behind him to hold Yifan’s head close, hand sliding smoothly against the pleasing bristle of Yifan’s buzzcut.

“Is this okay?” Yifan asks as he begins to press a second finger into Yixing. Yixing doesn’t say anything, he just nods and hums, lifting one knee to spread his legs for Yifan. Yifan mouths at Yixing’s shoulder, sucking shallow marks into his skin as he curls and twists his fingers in the way that he remembers Yixing likes. “Touch yourself,” he murmurs when he sees that Yixing’s arousal has begun to wilt, the strain and dullness of preparation not enough to keep him interested. Yixing keeps a hold of Yifan’s head, using his free hand to palm himself.

Fitting a third finger into Yixing is difficult. Yifan goes slow, but he can feel Yixing tighten around him, his hand slowing on his cock. Yifan lifts his head to look down at him, and he’s troubled by the discomfort he sees there. “Yixing,” he whispers, and then again, “ _Yixing_ ,” when Yixing doesn’t answer him. Yixing finally turns his head, breathing out deeply.

“ _Gege_ ,” he moans, the word flickering like flames in Yifan’s stomach. His mouth goes dry and he forgets what he was going to say. Was he going to offer to stop? Yifan grinds his teeth at the very thought. He drops the half-empty packet of lube onto the mattress and scrambles to grab the condom, bringing it around and handing it to Yixing.

“Help me open this,” he demands, his voice low and raspy against the skin of Yixing’s ear. Yixing trifles with it for a moment, his fingers finding the serrated edge before realizing what he’s holding and throwing it over the side of the bed.

“No, Fan, please,” he whines, picking up the lube and putting it into Yifan’s waiting hands. “I don’t want that, I just want you.”

Yifan groans, ducking his head down between Yixing’s shoulders. His cock throbs with the desire to be inside Yixing, to _feel_ him. He doesn’t argue; he takes the lubricant and squeezes the rest of it out into his hand, stroking his cock until he’s slick enough to slide in easy. He presses at Yixing’s entrance. Yixing lifts his leg up higher, into the air, and Yifan finally gets the head in. Yixing cries out, but he muffles it into the pillow. Yifan reaches down to hold his thigh, supporting his leg, and he rolls his hips up, working himself the rest of the way in. He goes slow, letting Yixing relax and take him at a steady pace.

“Oh, Fan, yes,” Yixing sighs when Yifan finally rests deep inside him, not moving, just waiting for him to give Yifan permission to move. His fists have curled tightly in the sheets, but he releases one hand to stroke his softened cock, his ass clenching sweetly around Yifan as he does. Yifan hisses into the skin of Yixing’s shoulder, thighs tense with the exertion it takes to not fuck up into him, to not hurt him so carelessly. Yixing finally glances over his shoulder, a sweet dimpled smile bright in the darkness. “Yifan, please, fuck me,” he whispers.

Yifan doesn’t restrain himself any longer. He rolls his hips smoothly, planting one foot on the bed for leverage. Yixing grunts, working himself down against Yifan’s cock and then up into his fist. The angle lets Yifan go deep and hard, hips thumping against the sharp jut of Yixing’s ass with every thrust so hard that Yifan worries for a moment about bruises. Yixing, for his part, does nothing to help that. He shoves his hand down onto the mattress hard, pushing back against Yifan with all of his strength. Yifan has to practically lean over him just to keep Yixing from rolling them over.

Tonight, it’s push and pull between them. Grabbing and rutting and hissing their moans between clenched teeth. Yifan loves when Yixing moans so loud that it rings in his head, but in this hotel room at such an early hour, he respects Yixing’s desire to bite his lip and bottle himself into silence. Yifan doesn’t let himself worry about whether Yixing is enjoying it—he can feel Yixing’s hand stretched back, grabbing at his ass to haul him in deeper and harder. Yifan gives him what he can at this angle, whispering roughly into Yixing’s ear, “Touch yourself, baobei. Are you close already? I want you to come for me.”

A desperate whimper breaks through then, but that’s all. The slick sounds of Yixing working his cock furiously rises, a fluttering descant over the steadier sounds of Yifan fucking him. Even the squeaking of the mattress does not rise to overcome them, nor does the thumping of the headboard against the wall. Yifan ignores them both, thrusting faster and faster until finally Yixing comes, his breath crashing like a wave in a storm when he does. He tightens around Yifan, and Yifan slows accordingly, reaching down to cup his balls and stroke the very base of his cock to carry him through it. Yixing’s fingers squeeze at the tip, but he stretches down with his pinky towards Yifan’s knuckles. Yifan lifts one finger to meet him.

When he’s finished, he takes Yifan’s hand with his own, spreading the mess, and whispers, “Fan…” Yifan lets him drop his leg, pulling out and rolling him onto his stomach. Yixing goes readily, pushing his hips back so that Yifan can see his ass clearly in the darkness. He gets up on his knees over Yixing, stroking himself against the smooth flesh of Yixing’s backside. Yixing looks over his shoulder at him, a scant smirk revealing the small indent of his dimple, and Yifan comes thinking about the look in Yixing’s eyes. The hunger, the satisfaction, the _ownership_.

Yifan falls to the mattress in a well-deserved slump, clumsily sprawling where he lands. Yixing rolls over to face him, his smile softer and fonder now. Yifan can see it clearly, even with the lights off and the curtains drawn. He reaches up to stroke Yixing’s cheek before pulling him into a kiss. It’s soft, sweet, longing. Everything they crave when they’re separated, everything they need when they’re reunited. When they part, Yixing smiles sweetly. “Why am I the only one who got dirty?”

Yifan laughs at that, so abruptly that he startles himself. Yixing isn’t startled; he just laughs along with him, knocking a hand—the dirty one—into Yifan’s chest playfully. Yifan hasn’t completely quieted when he grabs Yixing by the hips, rolling him over and plastering himself to Yixing’s back. His own ejaculate smears against his belly, but Yixing seems satisfied. Yifan wonders if he’s actually upset. “Want me to carry you to the shower?”

For a moment, Yixing is silent. Yifan wonders if he’s already fallen asleep. He wouldn’t be surprised; in fact, he’s more surprised when Yixing stirs and says, “No. Just stay here with me.” Yifan, who is finally feeling the infinitely long night draw to a close in him, acquiesces without argument.

In the morning, he wakes with an itchy belly. He scratches it, dried come flaking off beneath his fingernails. He’s cold all over, not a single bit of him tucked beneath the covers. When he spreads an arm out to either side, he finds that Yixing is missing, too. The sun is just barely filtering in through a crack in the curtains when Yifan lifts his head, glancing around the room. Though Yixing’s suitcase is still there, in Yifan’s view, Yixing is not. Yifan lifts himself up more, propping up on his elbows and tilting his head. The shower is running, and faintly, he can hear Yixing singing something. Yifan doesn’t recognize it; he wonders if it’s a new original composition.

Whatever it is, Yixing has finished with it by the time he comes back to bed. His towel is slung low around his waist, and his wet hair is hanging over his brow boyishly. Yifan reaches up to grab him, but Yixing skirts away from his touch, laughing. “I just showered, and you’re dirty.” Yifan grins at Yixing, lurching towards him but falling short when Yixing skitters away. He makes it to his suitcase safely, pulling out pants and underwear and a shirt. Yifan watches him dress, still reclining in bed.

“Before you get dressed,” Yifan starts, catching Yixing’s attention. He smiles crudely. “Why don’t you let me have you again? Just so that you don’t have to get all dressed up just to go and take it off again.”

Yixing laughs, actually laughs at him, and goes back to dressing himself. Yifan, who can’t take it too hard, smiles and traces the lines of Yixing’s broad grin with his eyes. His heart hastens in his chest, and he wants to trace those lines with his fingers and his lips. “Yixing.”

“Ge?” Yixing glances up at him warily, one arm in his shirt and the other squeezing in to find the sleeve.

“Come here.”

“You’re going to try something,” Yixing accuses, but obediently, he approaches Yifan’s side of the bed. Yifan could take this opportunity to try something, but he doesn’t. He cups Yixing’s face and kisses his cheek where his laugh lines dig in, then finds his dimple and kisses that, too. He kisses up to where Yixing’s nose wrinkles when he laughs too hard, and then down to his chin, just below the swell of his lower lip. Yixing submits to his kisses, accepting each one and presenting whatever part of him Yifan seeks next. “I love you,” Yixing says when Yifan leans away, smiling at Yixing’s flushed face.

“I love you, too,” Yifan whispers, reaching out to help pull Yixing’s shirt down over his arm. While Yixing finishes dressing, Yifan stays sprawled in bed, free for the morning and unwilling to spend it anywhere else. Yixing searches for his wallet and his phone and his music player (Yifan has to remind him to grab his headphones) before he stops at the bedside for one last kiss goodbye.

“I have schedules all day. What are you doing tonight?”

“Filming,” Yifan tells him. He cups Yixing’s cheek, smoothing out his frown. “I’ll find time to come see you. When’s checkout?”

“Tomorrow at nine.”

Yifan hums. He rolls forward, licking into Yixing’s mouth indulgently, just in case this is the last kiss they have together for another few weeks or months. Yixing deepens it, wrapping his arms around Yifan’s shoulders and tilting his head back and letting Yifan lower him down to the floor. He hangs half over the bed, feeling miles above Yixing when they part. Yixing smiles up at him, sitting up and standing soon after so that Yifan doesn’t have the chance to distract him again.

“Text me,” Yifan says as Yixing is walking to the door.

“I will,” Yixing says. “I love you, Yifan.”

“I love you, too, Yixing.” Yixing smiles at him around the door before easing over the threshold and into the hall. Yifan watches the door for a few minutes longer, the feeling of Yixing against his lips beginning to feel more like a loss than a memory. He sighs, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and hoisting himself up to get a shower. It’s always like this, whenever they get time together. Yifan wonders if he’ll ever get used to living on these brief trysts. He washes away the last traces of Yixing when he soaps up his stomach. Last night swirls down the drain.

Except when Yifan finishes his shower and fishes for his phone, Yixing has already texted him. A short, _i love you, enjoy your day, i booked one more night. see you tomorrow morning, same time same place♥_. Yifan reads over the text two more times before responding in the affirmative. His stomach flutters as though he were a little boy again, and when he has to finally dress himself for his own workday, he does so thinking about Yixing. About how he’ll be coming back to him for one more night. It isn’t much, but it’s what they have for now.

Yifan will take it. He always will.


End file.
